Absalom's Daughters (27 page)

“This ol' lady,” said Bethesda, “
claims
she some kinda in-law, but she so old she don't know what she is. She prob'ly don't even know
where
she is.”

“Or
when
she is,” said Iris.

“Ennyway,” said Bethesda, “ever'body else got sick o waitin' for them lawyers to do their revisin', and they all left.”

“'Ceptin' that one fella.” Iris put the towels to one side and began folding washcloths.

“William Forrest,” said Bethesda. “He some long-lost somethin'-or-other, and he been hangin' on her since way back when.”

“Since duck huntin' season,” said Iris.

“Must be a nice mansion,” said Cassie. She pressed the taffeta gently into the froth of bubbles.

“I ain't never seen it,” said Bethesda. “I guess it musta been nice at one time. Ever'body talking 'bout Oriental rugs an' crystal chandeliers an' armoires an' fine china.”

“It old too,” said Iris, “been round since this town was jus' a sawmill. My great-granddaddy used tell us 'bout his uncle what was on that plantation, an' his uncle tol' him the place was fulla spooks and hoodoo.”

“Full-blood African hoodoo,” said Bethesda. “Folks still talk about the haints inna woods there.” She put the iron down and said to Iris, “You know Myra, Doyle's girlfriend? She tol' me Doyle's boys snuck on down there to see if there was ennythin' left inna mansion. Somethin' started howlin' inside, an' they ran outta them woods like they pants on fire.”

“You know, ain't nothin' livin' in that house, an' there ain't nothin' gonna howl in them woods 'cept mebbe a bobcat. Them two boys ain't got a brain between 'em!” Iris was done folding washcloths, stacks of gleaming white terrycloth, without a stain, a fray, or a loose thread. She reached for the pile of sheets but kept pressing her lips together like she was trying to hold on to her own next words as long as she could. Finally, she said, “That howlin', prob'ly Doyle ruttin' with his
other
girlfriend,” and she and Bethesda burst into laughter.

That seemed to be all they had to say about Miz Eula, the mansion, and the will. Iris and Bethesda chattered on about Doyle and the woods and the likelihood of poisonous snakes. Their hands never stopped except when they came to some kind of stain or tear, and they had to comment on the hotel resident who had spilled coffee or grape juice or who had used a perfectly good towel to wipe up dog pee.

Cassie took her time with the dresses and the dainties. She ironed shirts. She folded linens. The dresses hung to dry. Eden Pomeroy brought sandwiches and coffee from the kitchen for lunch. She looked over Cassie's work and didn't say anything, which Cassie took as a good sign. The three black taffeta dresses had been hanging in the breeze of an open door all morning and would be completely dry in about an hour. Cassie could press them and have them ready to go by two. Shortly, the housekeeping staff would bring down the loads of laundry for the afternoon. In the meantime, Eden Pomeroy allowed her staff a break. Iris and Bethesda went outside to smoke cigarettes. Cassie went upstairs to find Judith.

Judith was making beds on the second floor. She looked as disheveled as she had when she'd run out of their room this morning, but the bed she was making was perfect. The pillows were fluffed like marshmallows, the sheets crisply turned, the blanket tucked immaculately at the corners. Judith tossed a white coverlet across the bed and made sure it was even on all sides.

“Where'd you learn to make a bed like that?” said Cassie, because surely it hadn't been back in Heron-Neck.

“From Miz Frances,” said Judith, breathless. “She run the maids. An' she said she'd whup me no question less'n I did ever' bed on this floor jus' zactly right. Come on!” Judith rushed into the hall, where there was a cartful of fresh, precisely folded sheets, towels, and washcloths. Cassie followed Judith into the next room. The last had been spare and unremarkable. This one had a kitchenette, a sitting room, and three bedrooms, two apparently occupied by young children.

“Why they leave their damn toys all over?” Judith scooped up baby dolls and teddy bears and dumped them in a toy chest. Someone had spilled a bowl of cereal and milk right next to the bed. Judith didn't see it until she put her foot in the puddle. She let out a growl, kicked off the wet shoe.

“We gotta find our daddy,” said Cassie.

“Oh, I found his room, but he ain't in it.” Judith picked up the wet shoe and shook it. “There was letters with his name on 'em. Open letters on a table. From somebody-and-somebody, esquires.”

“Lawyers.” Cassie grabbed her hand. “Miz Eula's meetin' with lawyers tomorrow. There's something goin' on about the will.”

“I'll show you the letters.” Judith abandoned the spilled cereal, slipped into her wet shoe, and pulled Cassie out the door, leaving the unmade beds. Out in the hall, the elevator made a musical
ding
.

“
Hail
,” Judith whispered with terrible despair, “what if it's Miz Frances?” But it was Miz Eula who emerged from the elevator, terribly thin, wrapped in a white bathrobe, her iron-gray hair loose in a frizzy billow. She looked both ways, as though crossing a dangerous street.

“I've been looking for you,” she said when she saw them. She reached into the pocket of the robe and pulled out a crumpled page. “The auction's tomorrow, and first the lawyers are coming. You must come with me to the meeting to establish your claim.”

Cassie took the letter and tried to read it, but the only thing she could really understand was that
issues
in the will were
unresolved
and that the auction was set for the next day at three in the afternoon.

“Without your claim, you get nothing,” said Miz Eula. “Your father gets his share but not you.”

“But we've come all this way,” said Cassie.

“It wouldn't matter if you'd come from the moon,” said Miz Eula.

“We're
progeny
,” said Judith.

“I'll take you to the mansion,” said Miz Eula.

*   *   *

That evening, though the weather was clear, Judith came into their storeroom with an umbrella and a flashlight. She leaned the umbrella against the bed, reached under the mattress, and pulled out the horse pistol. Cassie was almost glad to see it.

Judith dropped the gun and the flashlight into the umbrella, like it was a pocket. The umbrella bulged a little, but no one would have guessed what was inside.

There would be no point in Cassie asking about the gun. Judith wanted to take the gun because she had a gun to take.

“'Bandoned house,” said Judith. “Might be haints.”

“You ain't gone hit a haint with no bullet.”

“No,” said Judith, “but we'll be ready fer ennythin' more solid.”

Judith gave Cassie the umbrella. Cassie hefted the awkward weight of it and hooked it over her arm.“Better not rain,” Cassie said.

“It ain't gonna rain.”

“Then we gone look stupid carryin' this umbrella. You put bullets in the gun?”

“Sure did.” Judith smoothed her dress, the blue one the Glades had given her. “We gonna get our due,” she said, so gravely that it surprised Cassie at how adult she sounded. “We not gonna be poor no more, wearin' these old hand-me-downs. We gonna have more than a penny to our names.”

Cassie wanted to point out that not only did they each have far more than a penny; Judith had sung them up a notch from their poverty. The Glades had gifted them with cash. In Cassie's opinion, this adventure into the snake-filled woods that Bethesda and Iris had been talking about was almost unnecessary. The sole reason was to show Bill Forrest that he still owed his family, and while that was important, it might not be important enough to invade an old house filled with Miz Eula's ghosts. She didn't say any of that. Judith was set on this path, and it was time to follow.

Cassie hefted the umbrella. “You gone tell Miz Eula we gotta gun?”

“Now why would I tell her that?”

“So she don't bring her own.”

“If she do have one, it's gotta be small. She don't have the strength to lift a cuppa coffee.”

“Still,” said Cassie, “I wouldn't want to be around if she start shootin'.”

Judith went over to the door and opened it. “Me neither.”

Miz Eula was waiting for them in her freshly pressed taffeta under the only light in the parking lot. It was late, and the sun had vanished behind the trees, leaving only the indigo bowl of the sky. She motioned them over with stick-figure gestures and pushed the car key into Judith's palm. Miz Eula sat in the passenger seat and insisted that Judith drive, which put Cassie in back with the umbrella, the gun, and flashlight. The car wasn't much newer than the one Cassie and Judith had driven from Mississippi to South Carolina, but it was cleaner.

“Which way?” said Judith.

“East,” said Miz Eula. “Straight out of town. Follow the railroad.”

*   *   *

There were few other cars and no trains either. The dark seemed pure and empty, quiet except for the sound of the car itself and the night calls of birds. Cassie rolled down the windows. The sweet evening fragrance of honeysuckle blew in.

“I'll show you where to stop,” said Miz Eula. “But the drive is a shambles. We'll have to walk in.”

“How long a walk?” said Cassie.

“A good half mile,” said Miz Eula.

“Kin you walk that far, ma'am?” Judith.

“I assure you that I
can
.”

They missed the entrance twice, not because it wasn't marked but because it was. A gas station had been built at the end of the mansion's drive; a business for however long, then abandoned. The gas pumps were gone. What remained were a concrete apron and a boxy building with plate-glass windows, all shattered.

The first time they passed the entrance, Miz Eula remarked that she didn't remember any buildings on this road. The second time Cassie held the flashlight as they passed and made Judith creep forward so the old woman could peer into the woods. After the second U-turn on the empty highway, Judith pulled in to the remains of the gas station and angled the car so the headlights shone into the trees.

“This has to be it,” said Miz Eula.

“When was the last time you were here, ma'am?”

“It was winter,” said Miz Eula “No. It was spring.”

Judith turned off the engine, and Cassie helped Miz Eula out of the front seat. Cassie hooked the umbrella over her right arm.

“Will it rain?” Miz Eula said.

“You never know,” said Cassie.

Judith pointed the flashlight into a darkness made more dense by thick brush. Crickets and frogs called from deep in the forest, and Cassie could smell the wet decay of a marsh. Miz Eula hung on to Cassie's left arm, getting her footing as they made their way from concrete into the tall weeds. She weighed hardly anything and smelled faintly of camphor. She was hot but dry, almost feverish through the black taffeta. The bones in her thin arm poked into Cassie's ribs.

The trees parted slightly, and Judith shone the flashlight over a rutted track where heavy rains had cut uneven channels into what had once been a drive wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side. The smell of swamp grew stronger.

“You sure you want to do this, ma'am?” said Cassie over the creak of insects.

Miz Eula gripped Cassie's arm even more tightly, teetering in her narrow black shoes.

Judith glanced back at Cassie. “You want me to take the umbrella?” meaning she wanted the gun, but Cassie wasn't ready for her to have it. There were too many imaginary things to shoot at just yet. The real things were ahead in the house, and there were only three bullets.

Miz Eula was breathing hard, but she didn't show any sign of stopping, not so long as the phantom house lay ahead. Cassie could feel that pull herself. She glanced at Judith, striding along, swinging the flashlight so that the beam rushed up into the dense branches and then down again, like she knew where she was going and didn't need the light anyway.

Miz Eula leaned more heavily on Cassie's arm. Up ahead, the roaming flashlight beam glinted off something that might have been a window. Cassie felt her heart jump.

“Hand over that umbrella,” said Judith. “I think I see the house.”

Miz Eula swayed in the dark, breathless and hot. “The house.
The house
.”

“Turn off that light,” Cassie said.

Judith obeyed and took the umbrella, felt noisily around inside it, and gave it back, lighter. The three of them stood at the edge of the black canopy of trees, letting their eyes adjust to the depth of the night, and the size of the house, burdened by years and weather, its roofline sagging against the stars, its walls plastered with ancient advertisements for snuff and shoeshine, cigarettes and whiskey.

“It was a dry goods store,” said Judith, sounding surprised. “Jus' like Tawney's back in Heron-Neck.”

“Bigger than Tawney's,” said Cassie.

The front stairs were still sheathed in marble and gleamed eerily in the shine from the stars, but the porch,
the gallery
as Grandmother would have called the ruined stoop that ran all the way around the first floor, was wooden and rotten.

“Watch where you put your feet,” said Judith, flashlight still turned off. The horse pistol was a dull, iron shape in her hand, looking more like a club than a gun.

The three of them edged across the broken porch, making for the front door.

“It'll be locked,” said Miz Eula. “You'll have to break in through the windows.”

The windows were shuttered, but as the three of them came closer, they could see that at least one shutter had already been pried open. Judith put a tentative hand into the even deeper blackness that was the window.